


Reprieve

by Amethyst18



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst18/pseuds/Amethyst18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the night before the games, and Clove is finally allowing herself to feel—away from the pressures of the camera and the Capitol. A small reprieve is all she needs…..and she isn’t alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> I never pictured myself writing this pairing, but I got the idea for this one-shot a few days ago and just had to write it! This is my first time writing Hunger Games fanfiction and I really hope I've done it justice!

With trembling fingers, she slowly pulls the pins from her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders and down her back. As she slowly brushes through the tangles, she tries not to think about what’s coming. But it seems nothing can stop the tremors from quaking through her body.

She hates herself for feeling this way, for feeling _weak._

With an exasperated sigh, she throws the brush across the room and peels her clothes away from her sweaty frame. She walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on as hot as it will go. Steam immediately begins to fill the room, and she quickly ducks under the near scalding water. As the water runs down her body, she closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

It isn’t long before she hears footsteps on the tile floor. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know who they belong to.

She knew he would come.

She waits until she feels his hand trailing down her arm. When she opens her eyes, he is standing before her, his face reflecting back to her everything she is trying so desperately not to feel. She has to bite her lip to keep from crying out, and as tears flood her eyes, she pulls him into her arms.

They hold each other for a long time not bother to speak as the water continues to run the length of their bodies.

Then without warning, he pulls away from her and roughly pushes her up against the wall of the shower. His hands grip her shoulders, his face inches away from hers. “Clove,” he whispers, her name like dynamite on his lips. He whispers her name over and over; his eyes burning with an emotion so raw, her heart aches at the sight of it.

_Need._

She wants to tell him that she understands. She wants him to know that it’s okay, that neither of them has to be brave, that no one is watching, no one can see.

But as they had so often before, the words fail her before they even leave his lips.

No matter, tonight isn’t the time for words anyways.

With as gentle of a touch as she can manage, she reaches up and places her palm against his smooth cheek.

She barely has time to register his reaction when his lips suddenly come crashing down on hers. He grips her tighter and tighter, and though her arms begin to ache, her desire for him to hold her even closer wipes away any notions of discomfort.

Their kiss deepens, and she gives herself entirely over to it, letting her mind go. Adrenaline course through her veins and her heart pounds erratically in her chest. Their lips move together in a frantic dance of mutual desperation and need, and as his hands tangle in her hair, she takes advantage of her free hands and pulls the hem of his shirt up over his shoulders.

He releases her only long enough to allow her to pull it the rest of the way over his head and toss it to the floor. She tugs the waistband of his trousers and they join the rest of his clothes on the floor. Then he pulls her back to him, and she nearly cries out in pleasure at how amazing his skin feels against hers. With a groan, he moves to the small hollow at the base of her throat. She whimpers in pleasure as he trails hot kisses up and down her slender neck—His tenderness not something she thought him capable of.

She begins to feel dizzy, and she isn’t sure if it’s from the heat of the water pouring over them, or from the fire of his touch.

Unable to stop the moan that escapes her lips, she finally gives in to her sensibilities. Using the wall as leverage, she pulls herself up and wraps her legs around his waist. His hands immediately move to support her, pulling her even tighter against his body.

She can no longer think of anything but him. Just _Cato_. And as she gives into her desires, waves of euphoria wash over her.

They move together, each one driven by need and desperation. He continues to whisper her name hoarsely in her ear, and it’s all she can do to keep from completely coming undone.

It’s only when he slowly lowers her to the floor, both of their breathing heavy and erratic, does she notice that hot tears are streaming down her cheeks.

She tries to stop them, tries to swallow the lump that has formed in her throat, but everything she is feeling is simply too much for her. She begins to shake from the silent sobs that threaten to erupt at any moment.

He doesn’t offer any words of encouragement, and he doesn’t make fun of her tears. He simply takes her hand, places it over his heart, and then covers it with his own. In his eyes, she can see understanding.

He waits until the tears subside, then with one more caress of her cheek, he releases her and steps out from the shower.

She follows suit and watches him as he grabs a towel from the shelf.

As he dries off, she can see him wrestling with his emotions. But then, one by one, she can see his defenses snapping back into place. In a matter of seconds, there’s not a trace of the desperation or need she’d witnessed only moments before. His mask of confidence and strength—the one he has perfected through a lifetime of training and preparation—crosses his face once more, and she is no longer looking into the face of someone who is just as scared as she is. Here before her is the face of a man who cannot be defeated. A man who is ruthless in his quest for honor and glory. The face of a killer.

She doesn’t say a word as he gives her one last look and slips out the door.

She wants to run after him, to grab him by the hand and find a way to somehow escape the reality of their breeding. But she knows there is no escape. This is always where their lives were meant to lead.

Tonight is final. And there is no going back.

She takes a few deep breaths, the image of his face flashing before her eyes.

Then, with new resolve, she picks up the brush from where she’d thrown it earlier. Once again, she begins brushing out the tangles of her hair.

Tomorrow she will be in the arena.

Tomorrow she will put a lifetime’s worth of training to the test.

Tomorrow she will kill.

With each stroke of the brush, her resolve hardens—her own mask slips into place.

She is calm.

She is _ready_.


End file.
